Due Rimward

Part IV

by Paul E. Jamison

 

When the Universe tried to change things, repercussions were felt elsewhere.

 

CMOT Dibbler was working Short Street at the time, hawking his wares. "Dibbler's Meat Pies! Sausage-inna-bun! Special today! Rock-bottom deals – I'm cutting me own –” Then his wares changed appearance.

 

Dibbler gaped at his tray. Instead of the usual sausages and meat pies, the tray now held a dozen small, square cardboard boxes with what looked like a stylized M printed on top of each one. He carefully opened one of the boxes and was horrified at the appearance of whatever-it-was inside.

 

It had to be a sandwich – the round bun looked like some sort of bread product – but it was like no other sandwich he'd ever seen. He carefully lifted the top part of the bun and shuddered at the appearance of the contents. Lettuce, tomatoes, onions – at least he supposed that was what they were – and the meat… There wasn't much that Dibbler found revolting to look at, but he was looking at it now.

 

Then the boxes were gone and there were the familiar sausages and meat pies again.

 

Dibbler was deeply shaken. He shut his tray up and turned around to go home. He needed to lay down for a bit. Anything that shook CMOT Dibbler up enough to close up shop was bad indeed.

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

A few miles Hubwards of Lancre Town, a coven of witches was meeting in a small cottage. Or rather, most of a coven. The third member of this particular coven had overslept, so the remaining two just sat and tolerated each other's company.

 

The short, round witch had just taken a swig of her newest batch of scumble when the Universe tried to change Fraser. Nanny Ogg sat back and smiled. "Cor, now that's what I call a strong batch! Care for a swig, Esmi?"

 

The other one, who looked like she had been chosen by Nature to fill the role of the Wicked Witch, scowled at her. Scowling seemed to be hard-wired into Granny Weatherwax. "Gytha Ogg, that was not your scumble – I felt it, too! Something happened just now!"

 

Nanny Ogg looked at the bottle, then looked at Granny Weatherwax. "Something happened? To what?"

 

"From the feel of it – everything."

 

Nanny Ogg concentrated for a moment, then said, "Oh, dear. You're right! Something big did happen! And it feels like it might happen again." She looked at her friend. "It feels like it came from Rimward."

 

Granny stood at the window and scowled outside. "That it did. I'd say it came from Ankh-Morpork."

 

"What shall we do, Esmi?"

 

"I don't know." Whatever role Nature had chosen Granny Weatherwax to fill, she'd been far too stubborn to accept it. Granny pursued her own idea of what was Right and Good, much like a nasty-tasting medicine was Good For What Ails You. "We'll keep an eye on it. If it happens again, we may have to do something." Granny scowled even more, if that was possible. "I can't be having with that sort of goings-on."

 

Nanny Ogg took a thoughtful swig of scumble.

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

Queen Ptraci I of the kingdom of Djelibeybi was strolling along in the desert evening. She was admiring the view very much. This consisted of several pyramids and a lot of sand. Freshly-minted motherhood tended to affect people in this way.

 

At her side walked Khalvin, High Priest of all Djelibeybi and one of Ptraci's best friends. It had been a day full of religious ceremony, and he was still dressed in his priestly raiments and wearing his elaborate headpiece. He carried the badges of his holy office, the two striped hooks which he held across his chest during official ceremonies. Right at the moment he was using one of them to get at a hard-to-reach itchy spot on his back.

 

Once he'd scratched to his satisfaction, Khalvin said, "Ah, that feels much better. So, how is the new little one?"

 

Ptraci answered, "Well, he kept us both up most of last night. And we've changed his diet recently, which makes changing the nappy interesting. And he's going through a demanding stage right now."

 

"So, in short…"

 

Ptraci beamed. "He's beautiful."

 

Khalvin nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. I have an important matter to discuss, your Highness, and it has to do with the Prince. It's time to start thinking of the Naming Ceremony."

 

Queen Ptraci sighed. She'd done much to do away with what she considered outdated rituals, but in some cases she'd not been able to come up with a good reason not to keep them. "Very well, what do we have to do?"

 

"Well, first we have to look for a sign."

 

Ptraci frowned. "A sign? What sort of sign?"

 

"A mystical sign, your Highness. We must look for what is clearly a supernatural event –”

 

At this point the kingdom of Djelibeybi disappeared.

 

Djelibeybi's principal crops were melons, garlic and, up until recently, pyramids. None of these made for a strong export market. However, Djelibeybi had one very important function with respect to its neighbors, Tsort and Ephebe. It kept them apart. If Djelibeybi hadn't been there, these two countries would have torn each other apart centuries ago through mutual invasion. And now Djelibeybi wasn't there.

 

Two Ephebian soldiers were walking along the ramparts of an outpost on the Ephebe/Djelibeybi border. Just as they were passing one another, there not one hundred yards away appeared a Tsortian outpost on the Tsort/Djelibeybi border. Only now it was the Ephebe/Tsort border. The two sets of soldiers gaped at each other across the sands.

 

The younger of the two Ephebians turned to the other and anxiously asked, "What's happened? What do we do?" He looked over at the Tsort outpost and answered his own questions. "We must prepare for an attack – by your order, I'll send for reinforcements –”

 

"No. We will wait."

 

"Wait? I don't understand. This is a perfect opportunity –”

 

"We will wait. I've heard of this happening before."

 

Wherever Djelibeybi was now, the sun had disappeared and formless clouds roiled in the sky. Giant bolts of purplish magical lightning writhed between the tips of the pyramids. Ptraci and Khalvin could do nothing but stand and stare at this spectacular light show.

 

In the meantime, the magical discharges from the pyramids were having an effect on things. All across Djelibeybi, every edged implement – every knife, every razor, every pair of scissors – was getting sharper by the second.

 

Then normality returned.

 

The Tsortian outpost disappeared, to be replaced with Djelibeybian vistas. The older soldier resumed pacing. The younger soldier stared at Djelibeybi, finally shrugged his shoulders and began walking along the rampart again.

 

It was quiet in Djelibeybi. Except for the wails of the knife merchants and blade sharpeners, who were realizing that they weren't going to get any business for several weeks.

 

Queen Ptraci blinked and looked at the sun and the now quiescent pyramids. Finally she turned to Khalvin and said, "All right. What's next?"

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

The Librarian was sitting at his desk reading many a quaint volume of forgotten lore. He let out a huge, toothy yawn; some lore was forgotten for good reasons. Then he heard a thump from somewhere nearby.

 

"Oook!" Like many librarians, he held a deep love for books, and he resented it when people took the books off the shelves and proceeded to wear them out by reading them. He resented it even more if they dropped them. The Librarian got up from his desk and started looking for the miscreant.

 

He found a grimoire on the floor down a nearby aisle. It was attached to a broken chain. The Librarian picked up the book and was about to snarl with rage when he realized that the grimoire looked familiar; he couldn't place it, though.

 

There was another thump, right behind him.

 

The Librarian looked around and saw another book lying on the floor. This, too, looked familiar, though he couldn't say why.

 

Then it came to him. He was used to seeing these particular books from a distance. Straight up, in fact.

 

The Librarian looked up to the ceiling, just in time to dodge a falling volume of wart cures that was coming down fast.

 

He looked up again and realized that the activity at ceiling level had dropped to almost nothing. And now he noticed that the books on the shelves were far more quiet than usual.

 

"Oook…" Something was indeed up.

 

Another volume hit the floor nearby, and another. They were falling more frequently as the minutes passed. The Librarian glanced up one more time and ran for his desk. His luck held; he reached the cubby hole under his desk without getting beaned.

 

Something was very wrong, but the Librarian didn't know what to do. Probably not very much for now. He looked at the grimoire that he still held in his hand. For one thing, he'd have some reshelving to do.

 

A large volume hit his desk with an echoing thud. For now, he decided to sit tight.

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

Mordecai Shugg lay beneath the covers. He knew it was almost time.

 

He'd had a long life, and he'd done much that he could be proud of, and much else for which he was never caught. He had had a loving wife, and together they had raised five wonderful children, who gave them twenty wonderful grandchildren. He could never keep track of all the great-grandchildren. He'd had a long, happy life.

 

It was long enough, now. It was time to go.

 

Mordecai's family had given him constant care for the past several months, but he'd decided that he wanted to be alone when the time came. Yesterday, he knew that it was near, so he'd sneaked out of the house and rented the best room in this quiet little inn. The bed was comfortable, and the sheets were soft and clean.

 

Mordecai's legs were going numb. It was near. Mordecai was ready. Soon he would come.

 

And he came.

 

MORDECAI SHUGG. It was not a question.

 

Mordecai sat up in bed, or at least part of him did. He smiled and replied, "How do you do? I've been looking forward to meeting you for so long."

 

MANY PEOPLE DON'T LIKE MEETING ME. YOUR ATTITUDE IS A NICE CHANGE OF PACE.

 

Shugg shrugged. "There wasn't much left in life for me to do. Or that I could do. It's time for me to leave. There's no point in fighting it, is there?"

 

INDEED. IF YOU WOULD KINDLY STEP AWAY FROM THE BED…

 

"Oh, yes." Mordecai was still attached to his body by the thin blue lifeline. He arose from the bed and stretched it out behind him to give Death a clear shot. "Will this do?"

 

VERY GOOD. THANK YOU FOR MAKING MY JOB EASIER. Death swung his scythe in position…

 

…And he was holding Mordecai Shugg in his bony hands.

 

Death knew it was Mordecai Shugg. As he'd said, he knew everyone's name. But Mordecai looked different now.

 

True, he was still bald and wrinkled, but in different ways. And he now weighed 8 pounds, 7 ounces and was 19 inches long. He began crying.

 

A young woman was lying on the bed now, propped up on pillows with her legs held apart. It was Mordecai's mother, and Mordecai was still attached to her. Standing next to her was Mordecai's father, who had just completed the important task of telling Mordecai's mother to push. They both stared at the midwife, who hadn't looked like that a minute ago.

 

It was hard to say who looked more surprised – the father, the mother or Death himself.

 

Then Death was holding his scythe again, and the shade of Mordecai Shugg was once more standing there, with his ectoplasmic jaw agape.

 

"What was that all about?!"

 

I – I DON'T KNOW. I'VE NEVER BEEN INVOLVED WITH THE OTHER END OF THE PROCESS.

 

"Everything went funny there for a moment."

 

YES. THIS MAY BE BAD. THIS MAY BE VERY BAD.

 

"I'd say I'm leaving just in time, then." Mordecai made a vague gesture. "Speaking of which…"

 

OH. RIGHT. I WAS DISTRACTED THERE FOR A MOMENT. He swept the scythe around and cut the lifeline cleanly. THERE. YOU'LL KNOW WHICH WAY TO GO.

 

"Right, guess I'll be on my way, then. Thanks for your help. Best of luck with the Universe." And Mordecai walked away.

 

SQUEAK?

 

Death looked around. The Death of Rats stood on the chest of the remains of the dearly departed. SQUEAK!

 

YOU FELT IT? I JUST EXPERIENCED IT FIRSTHAND!

 

SQUEAK?

 

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANT. I GET THE FEELING THAT IT'S SOMETHING SERIOUS, THOUGH. IT NEEDS INVESTIGATING.

 

SQUEAK!

 

I KNOW. SOMEONE WOULD HAVE TO PICK THIS TIME TO FIGHT A MAJOR BATTLE OVER IN MUNTAB. I'M GOING TO BE BUSY FOR THE NEXT FEW HOURS.

 

SQUEAK?

 

I THINK THAT'S A GOOD IDEA. GO AHEAD AND LOOK INTO IT.

 

SQUEAK?

 

GO TO THE LIBRARY FIRST. LOOK THROUGH THE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. YOU MAY FIND SOMETHING OUT THERE.

 

SQUEAK?

 

WHICH ONE? I THINK THERE'S ONLY ONE AUTOBIOGRAPHY THAT MATTERS IN THIS INSTANCE. THE BIG ONE.

 

SQUEAK! The Death of Rats disappeared.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

In Death's mansion there are many rooms.

 

One is the Library. It contains the autobiographies of every sentient creature in the Universe. The real autobiographies. The ones that are constantly writing themselves as the subject's life progresses.

 

The Death of Rats appeared in the Library and began running along the aisles, searching the titles.

 

It can be argued that a city, a country, a world or an entire Universe has a life of sorts. The Powers that Be apparently accept such an argument, because these have their autobiographies in Death's Library, too.

 

These autobiographies comprise multiple volumes, because there are many different ways of telling the life story of a city, or of a country: Geological, Socio-political, War, Import/Export, etc. When you get to the Universe as a whole, the autobiographies run into the dozens.

 

But for each of these entities, all the autobiographies are distilled down into a single volume – one book that serves as an overview. The Death of Rats was looking for the overview for the Universe.

 

He finally tracked it down. It wasn't a very large volume. Once you glossed over the details, there wasn't much to tell about the Universe. The Death of Rats pulled it out and opened the book.

 

He noticed two things right off. One was that the automatic writing had skipped a couple of lines, right about the time when things went odd. The handwriting seemed a bit shaky after that.

 

The other thing that the Death of Rats noticed was that there weren't many pages left in the book.

 

He put the book back and began looking through the other books. He soon found two slender autobiographies, less than two months old. These two men didn't have lifetimers, but their stories were still being told.

 

The Death of Rats began to do some research.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

The Librarian was stacking the newly-descended books into some sort of order when something bony and clad in black appeared on his desk.

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Oook?" The Librarian was surprised to see the Death of Rats. It wasn't Cripple-Mr-Onion Night.

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Oook?"

 

Instead of telling him what was wrong, the Death of Rats asked a question of his own. SQUEAK?

 

"Ooook!" Of course the Librarian knew who the Death of Rats was talking about. He'd liked the two new Watchmen himself, especially the one who knew the difference between a monkey and an ape.

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Oook?"

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Ooook!?" The Librarian's eyes opened wide and his face took on the surprised-coconut look of a baby orang-utan. A rat skeleton warning of wholesale destruction certainly got a person's attention.

 

But then there were the two new Watchmen. "Oook?"

 

The Death of Rats proceeded to tell just how he thought Ray and Fraser would have something to do with it.

 

SQUEAK! The Death of Rats was one for gesturing, and he gestured now while he was talking. SQUEAK! SQUEAK!

 

This gave the Librarian food for thought. "Ooook…"

 

Then somebody came shuffling down one of the aisles with a large stack of books.

 

Besides the pointy hat, Rincewind shared another trait with wizards; he could see Death in all its forms. This was not to say that he was a wizard; cats could see Death, too. Rincewind looked at the Death of Rats and said, "Oh. Hello. Is it Thursday night again? Right, I'll get the cards." Rincewind was less than enthusiastic about this, primarily because he'd been losing badly at Cripple Mr. Onion to the Death of Rats. He put down the books and started off down another aisle.

 

SQUEAK!!

 

"Ooook!!"

 

Rincewind groaned. "Something's wrong? I knew it. Things had been going nice and peaceful for too long. I figured something was due to happen. What is it this time?"

 

SQUEAK!

 

"What, mass destruction?"

 

"Oook!"

 

"How much mass destruction are we talking about?"

 

The Death of Rats thought for a moment. SQUEAK…

 

"Ah. Likely just the city of Ankh-Morpork and a large part of the Sto Plains. You had me worried for a moment there. I thought it might be substantial. Well, guess I'll be on my way, then." Rincewind started down the aisle.

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Yes, you just mentioned that. Thank you for the timely information. It's given me a very nice head start. Now, I have to be on my way to see a man about a bolthole. Toodles."

 

The Death of Rats said, solemnly, SQUEAK…

 

Rincewind looked back at him. "A coward? Did you just call me a coward?

 

"Of course I'm a coward! The Cosmos has been out to get me for – for I don't know how long! How else can I hope to survive if it weren't for good old Cowardice?"

 

SQUEAK?

 

"Shame? No, I don't have any shame! Why is it that people think they can shame cowards into going against their better judgment? Well, let me tell you, my fine musopomorphic personification, that may work with some cowards, but their hearts probably ain't in their cowardice! I'm a coward and I'm not sorry about it!"

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Well, I guess I'm flattered if you really think you need my help. But I'm sure that there's someone out there who'll be a halfway decent substitute. It won't be easy, but I suggest you find him. Good day!"

 

SQUEAK…

 

That stopped Rincewind. There was no telling when the other shoe would drop, so to speak. Most likely he wouldn't have time to find a good bolthole before the mass destruction.

 

The Librarian stood up and said, in tones fraught with meaning, "Ooook…"

 

That was the deciding factor. One could be frightened about possible impending doom somewhere down the line, or one can be frightened about the wrath of a 300-lb. orang-utan right now. Rincewind turned back. He believed in immediacy. "Right. What are we going to do?"

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Yeah, it's easy enough to say that we need to send those two home, but how do you propose to do it? This is Green Gas we're talking about here!"

 

"Oook!"

 

"Certainly we'll need help! But who?"

 

SQUEAK?

 

At the mention of the Guild of Alchemists, the Librarian gave out with a snort. Rincewind said, "Good luck getting anything useful from them! Their main concern is turning base metal into gold; all they've accomplished so far is to turn their Guild Hall into debris."

 

SQUEAK!

 

"All right! I'm thinking!" Rincewind rested his chin against his fist; he'd seen other people do this when they were thinking.

 

Rincewind turned to the Librarian. "You've been doing a search for books on Green Gas, haven't you? I don't suppose you found anything?"

 

"Oook!" The Librarian reached under his desk and brought out a stack of about half a dozen books.

 

"Well – it's a start, I suppose. Anything that looks useful?"

 

The Librarian started sorting through the books. "Oook… Oook… Oook… Oo –” He stopped at the fourth book and looked at the cover. He blinked. He opened it up and looked at the title page. "Ooook!!"

 

"What? What is – You mean the author is here??"

 

"Oook!" The Librarian turned the book around and showed them the title page. The title was A Theoretical Study of Green Gas, and the author was listed as "Graham Alva, High Energy Magic Studies, Unseen University, Ankh-Morpork".

 

SQUEAK!

 

"Yes! Very fortuitous! Well, friends, I was glad to be here for this momentous discovery. Now I just need to be on my way –”

 

"Ooook!!"

 

Rincewind sighed. "Oh, all right. Can we at least wait until morning to look this fellow up?"

 

They couldn't.

 

The High Energy Magic building was just next door to the Library. The students in residence there were younger than average and they tended to use words and phrases that the older wizards could never make head nor tail of. And they used them with enthusiasm. One had to be careful in talking to them, lest death due to boredom set in.

 

This late at night, lights could still be seen in many of the windows of the HEM building. The young students kept late hours. Many of the lights were odd-colored and tended to flare up unpredictably.

 

Rincewind knocked at the front door of the HEM building. The door opened a crack and a brusque voice said, "Yes?" The students were worse with the social graces than the average wizard, which was saying a lot.

 

"We need to talk with Professor Alva! It's urgent!"

 

A slight pause. "Go away! It's late!" The door began to close.

 

It wasn't able to close all the way. "Oook!" You can't shut a door on a determined orang-utan.

 

The student, a spotty young man with glasses even thicker than Ponder Stibbons', gave in to the inevitable and let them in. He grumbled, "Don't see why you want to talk to him! An odd duck, he is."

 

"What do you mean, an 'odd duck'? How odd can he be?"

 

"Well, what would you think of a man who was asked to leave the Alchemists' Guild? They didn't think he had his heart in the job."

 

"Didn't go for the gold, then?"

 

"Not a bit of it! So he comes here to the University, gets a position in the High Energy Magic Department, and now we have to put up with him! Do you know what he thinks we should be doing?"

 

SQUEAK…

 

"Practical research! All the work we're doing, and he wants to figure out what use we can put it to! I ask you, what's wrong with good old research for research's sake?"

 

A word popped into Rincewind's head. He never knew where it came from, nor did he ever figure out why he felt compelled to say it out loud. "Funding?"

 

The student frowned at him. He finally said, "Alva's office is this way. Follow me. And I warn you – it's not a pretty sight."

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Rincewind was stunned. Graham Alva kept the neatest wizard's office he'd ever seen!

 

Relatively speaking, that is. There were piles of books and papers all over – on shelves, on tables and even here and there on the floor.

 

But there were also many bare surfaces. One table, obviously set aside for experiments, held various chemical and magical apparatus, all neat and clean. The table, like the rest of the furniture, had a uniformity to it that was definitely out of place in a wizardly lifestyle.

 

There were virtually no arcane symbols on the walls or the backs of chairs or even on the floor. Any wizard would admit, if pressed hard enough, that arcane symbols, like other magical paraphernalia, were just there for show. But you went ahead and used all the gewgaws and the smoke and the chanting and the symbology because, well, it was traditional.

 

Wizards went in for clutter; wizards went in for symbols; wizards went in for a certain organic decor. There was none of that here. What kind of wizard was the Graham Alva?

 

Alva was sitting at his work table when Rincewind and the Librarian entered the room. He was a fit man that looked to be in late middle age, with a neatly-trimmed grey beard. He stood up and extended his hand. "You must be the Librarian! Glad to meet you at last, old chap! Heard some good things about you!" He nodded to the Death of Rats on the Librarian's shoulder.

 

As Alva and the Librarian shook hands, Alva turned to Rincewind. "And you must be…?"

 

"The Deputy Librarian. Look, we've got a spot of trouble, and we were wondering if you could help."

 

"Oook!" The Librarian held up A Theoretical Study of Green Gas.

 

Alva frowned. "Oh, dear. If it has to do with Green Gas, you are in trouble! Very difficult stuff to work with. What seems to be the problem?" He sat down and listened; the Death of Rats and the Librarian did most of the explaining.

 

…SQUEAK…

 

"…Oook…"

 

…SQUEAK!

 

"Oook!"

 

Alva listened with concern. Finally he said, "Yes, we do need to send those two back. Any further backlash from the Universe could do terrible damage.

 

"Fortunately, I've been thinking about what can be done to reverse the effects of Green Gas. I have an idea, and it's only theoretical. But it may work."

 

"Oook?"

 

"I think it's possible to develop an Anti-Green Gas – sort of a Green Gas in reverse."

 

SQUEAK?

 

"Well, the best I can describe it is that it's Red-Blue Gas. It's like colors – take away Green and what's left is a combination of Red and Blue. Theoretically, Red-Blue Gas is the opposite of Green Gas."

 

"Oook?"

 

"Yes, it would be Purple Gas, if you will. Nice way to put it, actually."

 

SQUEAK?

 

"Well, no, I've not made the stuff as such. But I've got some good ideas how I can. I think I've got the supplies I need here. It won't be easy, and it'll take some time."

 

Alva began to lay out his chemical apparatus. "Find some comfy places to stretch out, chaps. This looks to be an all-nighter."

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

In the wee hours of the night, an old woman stood in an alley.

 

Mary the Calf looked up at the window to Carrot's flat. She felt the link between them.

 

Mary the Calf concentrated. She was giving instructions.

 

Soon she was done. She turned, got back in the unmarked carriage and returned to Lord Dorking's estate.

 

Carrot lay on his bed. He didn't stir.

 

Diefenbaker lay on the floor next to the bed. The wolf stirred in his sleep. Apparently he was having a dream. Apparently.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

For Diefenbaker, guard duty was easy. Ray – or however Diefenbaker referred to him in his own mind – would take Diefenbaker with him to this place, where Carrot slept all the time. Ray and the remarkable woman others called Angua would go on to work, leaving Diefanbaker to stay with Carrot, until Ray and Angua came back in the morning. It was a good time for Diefenbaker to sleep.

 

In the wee-er hours of the night, something woke Diefenbaker.

 

The wolf looked around. It was only Carrot getting up. He would get up once or twice a night to go in and use the small room. Diefenbaker didn't see much sense in using a room for that sort of thing; what were trees for, after all?

 

This time was different, though. Carrot started getting dressed. He hadn't done that before.

 

Diefenbaker watched him curiously. Soon it was apparent that Carrot was getting ready to leave.

 

One of the reasons Diefenbaker was there was to prevent this sort of thing from happening, so he went into action. He got up and warily put himself between Carrot and the door.

 

Diefenbaker wasn't used to dealing with strong people. Carrot picked the wolf up easily and threw him across the room.

 

Diefenbaker struck the wall and was knocked unconscious.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Diefenbaker came to only a few minutes later, but the damage was done. The door was open and Carrot was gone.

 

Diefenbaker rushed out and down the steps to the front door. Carrot's scent was strong, but once he was out on the street it was overwhelmed by the other, strange smells of this strange city.

 

The wolf looked around frantically. He could probably follow Carrot – maybe. But he knew that he should get help. His own human, Fraser, was busy. That left Ray. He'd be with Angua; she'd be able to help, too.

 

But how could he find them?

 

Diefenbaker was getting upset. After all this time, he still had trouble getting around this strange place. He could no longer sense some things, and the new things he could sense were confusing.

 

All he could do was smell. And what smell was strong enough to help him?

 

One smell.

 

The strange man they had met the first day in this place. The man with a smell so strong that the worst cold in the nose couldn't keep it away. Diefenbaker could locate that Smell from across the city, and maybe a city or two beyond.

 

Where that Smell was, the strange man would be. And where the strange man would be, the strange dog that could talk like a human would be as well.

 

At least Diefenbaker hoped so.

 

He went off in search of the Smell.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

When Mary the Calf had given Carrot instructions, she had Leaked. Mentally, that is.

 

Diefenbaker had received something. Not a whole lot. Not clearly. But something.

 

As he followed the Smell, Diefenbaker realized that he knew something about where Carrot was going. He didn't know how he knew. He just knew that he knew.

 

It made no sense, though. Something about a door, and a ruler.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Locating Foul Ole Ron by the Smell had one drawback.  The Smell had its own box at the Opera House and tonight was normally Opera Night. [NOTE: Nobody intruded on the Smell when it was in its box.  Stands to reason, really.]

 

Fortunately, the Smell had seen the current production before and hadn't liked it the first time.  So, the Smell was with Foul Ole Ron.

 

Gaspode was woken up by the sound of frantic barking and looked around to see Diefenbaker approaching as fast as he could on three legs. The fourth was hiked up while Dief was doing some fast talking.

 

Gaspode got up and raised his own leg. "Whoa, hold up there, Sunshine! What's the big fuss?"

 

Diefenbaker hopped up and down on three legs and replied, "Trouble! Big trouble! Carrot has gotten up and walked off! I couldn't stop him by myself! I need help! I need to tell Ray and Angua!"

 

Diefenbaker had told Gaspode about the difficulties with Carrot, so the mongrel knew how serious this was. "Hmm – not good. You don't know how to track down Angua, do you, Sunshine?"

 

"No! I don't! Help me!"

 

"Right, I know their Watch beat! I can take you there and I can follow Angua's scent! Calm down, I'll get you to 'em, no worry!"

 

"I told 'em! Millennium hand and shrimp! Just you wait!"

 

"Right, he's awake…" Gaspode switched to a different language. "Hey, I've gotta go off and help my furry friend here! Will you be all right on yer own?"

 

"Buggroff!!"

 

"I'll take that as a yes – okay, mate, let's go!"

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

The sun is starting to rise over Ankh-Morpork. It is one of the few times when the city i relatively quiet. One could almost make the argument for the use of the adjective "peaceful".

 

This morning, at this time, there seems to be something mystical in the air.

 

A Voice fills the air. Everyone hears it. Granted, they don't know that they’re hearing it. It doesn't vibrate the eardrum, nor does it register in their consciousness. But deep down, in the unconscious mind, at that level where all individual minds connect together in what has been called the Racial Memory, they hear it.

 

It is an almost musical chant in a deep voice, such as is heard among the Inuit tribes of another world.

 

It goes: "Doo-Maaa-Ahhhh…"

 

Ray Vecchio and his partner, Corporal Angua, were leaning against the railing of the Brass Bridge, watching the golden sunrise play against the surface of the River Ankh. Given the magic field of this world, this is a literal description.

 

Things had changed in the last few weeks. In time, one gets used to anything – or, in the case of the Ankh, one gets immune to anything. The first time Ray had stood on this bridge and taken a deep breath, the river had burned away his nose hairs. Now he had to concentrate to remind himself that the Ankh was – well, whatever it was that the Ankh was.

 

Sunrise meant that their shift was almost over; they were just waiting to be relieved. It had been an uneventful night, except for a disturbance involving some dwarfs and some trolls.

 

Well, technically it had been a disturbance. Someone had turned in a complaint, which made it a disturbance.

 

It had started when the bars had closed. Four dwarfs, intoxicated with beer, had staggered out of a dwarf bar; three trolls, just as intoxicated from lava with some very interesting trace elements, had staggered out of a troll bar. The two rather crooked paths had just happened to coincide.

 

There is a certain level of intoxication at which everyone is your friend. Both parties enthusiastically proclaimed eternal comradeship for all dwarfs and trolls. And they decided to celebrate their newfound mutual friendship with a rousing sing-along. This was where the disturbance part came in. The neighbors did not appreciate being serenaded with the old classic "A Wizard's Staff Has a Knob on Its End".

 

Ray and Angua had had no trouble breaking up the songfest, though for the sake of diplomacy they had joined in on a second song. This had involved another classic, which told of exactly what could not be done to a hedgehog. Ray had enjoyed learning the words immensely.

 

Ray still wasn't quite used to the animated nature of sunrise. It was pretty, though. Granted, he still retained his skepticism about the shape of the world, but he accepted just how magical it was.

 

He looked over at his partner. Angua hadn't been in a very talkative mood all week, and Ray could understand why.

 

Ray took a chance. He asked, "How's Carrot?"

 

Angua didn't sigh. She wasn't one to sigh. But she made it clear that this was a moment to sigh if she were so inclined. She softly replied, "No change. At least none that I can see. If he's getting better – or worse – it's not enough that anyone can tell."

 

"What about the wizards? Will they help?"

 

"Don't know yet. They should get back to us in a day or two."

 

All Ray could think of to say was, "Rats." It sounded foolish. He felt like he had a round head and an orange shirt with a crooked black stripe.

 

After a few moments of silence, it seemed like Angua wanted to say some more. "He is the most –”

 

Ray waited.

 

“– the most – irritating man I've ever met!"

 

In spite of himself, Ray chuckled. "I'll trade you irritating people."

 

"He thinks nothing of dragging someone off to something he finds interesting, and it never occurs to him that other people would be bored to tears. Like the Dwarfbread Museum!"

 

Ray blinked. "Well… you got me on that one." Fraser and Ray had checked the Dwarfbread Museum out once. Fraser had managed to stay for ten minutes, and had explained to Ray later that the only reason he'd stayed that long was so he wouldn't hurt the proprietor's feelings.

 

Angua said, "It's not that he's opinionated or wrapped up in himself. He really, truly cares about other people. But he's so naïve. He has no idea how he affects other people."

 

"I know how that goes."

 

"He actually believes that everyone else in the world, no matter how sick or twisted, basically is kind and decent. And that they'll do the right thing if you only give them the chance."

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"And no matter how many times you explain it to him, he will not realize that that isn't the way that the world works!"

 

"That's my boy, too."

 

"And it doesn't help a bit that he's right a lot of the time!"

 

"Oh, no. Not a bit."

 

Angua was silent for a few moments. Then she said, "And he means so much to me that it hurts."

 

Ray said nothing. It wasn't the same for him and Fraser. There wasn't that sort of love there. There was only friendship.

 

And Ray's mind went down paths that it usually didn't take. The bond between him and Fraser wasn't the sort of love that Carrot and Angua had, but it could be just as strong a bond, and it was. Sometimes it wasn't "only" friendship.

 

He thought some more, and finally said, "I'm worried about Benny. I think this place is getting to him."

 

Angua looked at him. "How do you mean?"

 

"Like you said about Carrot, Fraser's naïve. He believes in the importance of good, and he believes in fighting evil. And this place – well, I can't say that it's evil. But it's not completely good, either."

 

"Carrot was that way. Still that way, really. But he's learned to adjust."

 

"Yeah, I know. This city has to be a little not-good, or else it'll be really evil. Carrot had to build up some sort of armor to operate here and stay sane. And if Benny wanted to stay here, he might build his own armor and learn to adjust, too."

 

Ray frowned. "But we didn't come to this city to stay. We came here to find a way to leave. It affects a person's attitude. If Fraser keeps thinking about this as a temporary situation, he won't build up that armor. And we want to go home, so Fraser can't stop thinking of this as a temporary situation."

 

Ray looked at Angua. There was concern in his eyes. "If we stay here too much longer, it may get to him. It might even break him."

 

At this point they heard barking and shouting.

 

They turned around. Coming from the Lower Broadway side of the bridge was Diefenbaker and the mutt that Fraser had said was named Gaspode. The wolf was barking, but somebody was shouting, "Emergency! Bad things going down, people! Your assistance is required, it is!"

 

At first Ray hadn't the faintest idea where the voice was coming from; there wasn't a human in sight. If he didn't know better, it almost sounded like –

 

He looked down at Gaspode and his eyebrows crawled up his forehead like they'd been invited to a comb-over. "You can –” He didn't finish; it was too obvious.

 

Gaspode replied, "You better believe I can, copper! Right now, there are more important things to think about! The big guy's flown the coop!"

 

Angua gasped. "Carrot? He's gone?"

 

"Got it in one. Dief here couldn't stop him! It's up to you two to track the good Captain down before he does some damage!"

 

Ray turned to Diefenbaker and asked, "Do you have any idea where he went?" He almost expected the wolf to answer him.

 

The mongrel answered instead. "Dief can't give you a street address, but he seem to have gotten some sort of impression. Something to do with a door and a ruler!"

 

Ray looked puzzled. "What, a door and a yardstick? Where's the sense in that?"

 

"No, not that kind of ruler, you git! A human type of ruler!"

 

Diefenbaker barked.

 

"A male ruler at that."

 

"What, a king? A door and a king? Door… king… Door-king… Dorking! That's it! Carrot's going to Dorking's place!"

 

As he said that, something in Ray's subconscious mind suddenly made itself heard. You could almost hear the click of a jigsaw puzzle piece as it fell into place.

 

Something Dorking had said…

 

"Strangle a troll? Good heavens! What with this attempt on Vetinari – strangulation seems to be the way to go nowadays, doesn't it?"

 

We'd kept the details of the assassination attempt secret, hadn't we?

 

So how did Dorking know that Vetinari was almost strangled?

 

Ray turned to Angua. "Dorking knows things about the case that he shouldn't. He's the one behind this.

 

"Oh, my God. Vetinari and Fraser are there for that outdoor chess thing! We've gotta stop carrot!"

 

Ray liked and respected Fraser, but it was refreshing to have a partner that didn't waste time saying things like "But Commander Vimes gave us orders not to get involved!" Angua said, "Right. I know where Lord Dorking's place is. Let's go!", and she headed down the bridge. Diefenbaker followed her.

 

Ray looked down at Gaspode. "Thanks a lot, uh, pooch. You wanna get in on this?"

 

"Nope. Not my job, mate. I've done my part and I'm sitting the rest out. Lots of luck to you folks."

 

Ray began moving away. "Thanks! We'll probably need it!" He started running after Angua.

 

After they'd started down Lower Broadway, Angua turned to Ray. "Listen, I'm ducking down the side street up here – there's something I have to do so I can move faster. Don't follow me – just stand here at the corner and turn around and don't watch me! After I come out – and it will be me! – go down the side street, pick up my clothes and follow me! Do I make myself clear?"

 

Ray gaped at her. "What are you talking about?"

 

"Just do as I say!" Angua ducked down the side street. Ray couldn't think of anything better to do, so he stopped and turned around like she'd said.

 

They had a crisis on their hands and a long way to go, and here she was going down an alley to do – Ray couldn't imagine what. It'd better be important!

 

He'd been standing there for what seemed like only a few seconds when something behind him shot out onto the main street. It was a wolf – with golden-blond fur. It headed down Lower Broadway, then turned to look at him.

 

"What in –?" Ray looked down the side street. There was no sign of Angua, but her clothes were there in a loose pile, like she'd taken them off in a hurry.

 

The strange wolf barked impatiently at Ray. And he had a revelation about his partner.

 

Immediately Ray went down the side street and started picking up the clothes. The Watch was definitely an equal opportunity employer – dwarfs, trolls, a zombie, a golem – why not a werewolf?

 

Ray put the clothes and the armor together in a manageable bundle. It would've been nice if Angua had told him, though. Then again, she probably didn't like talking about it.

 

Coming out on Lower Broadway, Ray saw Diefenbaker and Angua bounding away. He shouted, "Hey, slow up! I can't go as fast as you guys!" He began running after them.

 

And he found that he could go as fast as them.

 

Ray could hardly believe it. He was loping along at a respectable pace, and he wasn't even getting winded. What was going on?

 

The boots.

 

He looked down at his boots – they'd never pinched his feet or rubbed any blisters. They'd never gotten scuffed nor worn down. After two months, they were still in excellent condition. And now, they were helping him to run like the wind.

 

Ray threw his head back and yelled, "Whatever Higher Power gave me these boots when I came here – Thank you!!"

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

"Now there's something you don't see every day, Chauncey!"

 

"What's that, Edgar?"

 

"A Watchman chasing two wolves down the street and giving thanks to the Gods for his footwear!"

 

"Oh, I don't know, Edgar. Nobody pays the proper respect to the Gods nowadays!"

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

It had taken Alva most of the night, but he’d finally announced that he was done. He’d filled a small glass container with a purplish liquid, placed it in a carrier, and they had gone to find a cab on Sator Square.

 

This had not been difficult. The Librarian had thrust his head into the nearest cab and said, "Oook!!" The cabman had seen the sense in this and had only been too happy to relinquish his vehicle. Orang-utans have a distinct advantage in debates.

 

Now they had just turned onto Turnwise Broadway and were passing the Patrician's Palace. The Librarian was driving, the Death of Rats clutching his shoulder. The wizard Alva was tracking the multiversal disturbance – i.e., Ray and Fraser – with an occult device he held in his hand. Rincewind was cradling Alva's carrying case and worrying about something.

 

"Look, what's the point in bringing all these bottles? We only need the one, don't we?"

 

Alva replied in clipped tones, "I always keep that case full! If I only had one bottle, it would rattle around in there and it might break! Keeping the case full keeps the bottles from moving!"

 

"Yes, but there's stuff in these other bottles! Shouldn't they be empty?"

 

"I didn't have time to swap them out for empties! The multiverse must be very unstable right now! Seconds count! – Turn here!"

 

"Oook!"

 

"Well – they all look alike…"

 

"Listen, it's the one in the center, in front! See it? Remember it when the time comes!"

 

They rattled down the street.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

The renovators had done an excellent job.

 

The playing field of the outdoor chess arena was quite large. On either side was a covered spectators' gallery, and the ends of the field were closed off by very tall fences. Everything was richly decorated wood, with elaborate inlays and ornamentation. B.S. Johnson had created a quite impressive setup.

 

At the last minute, Lord Dorking had made some additions. The galleries had been open to the field before; now there were heavy screens installed, which fortunately did not obstruct the spectators' view. And he had beefed up the locks on the doors to the galleries and the field. That is, he'd beefed them up on the outside.

 

It was early morning, but both spectators' galleries were packed. Lord Dorking sat in the best seat in one of them, looking directly down on the playing field. Next to him sat Mary the Calf.

 

Dorking watched impassively as the Patrician and his bodyguard were escorted onto the playing field. His face showed no emotion as he leaned over to Mary the Calf and whispered, "Are you sure that's not Captain Carrot? He looks quite a lot like him!"

 

Mary chuckled. "Oh, no, that's not Carrot, I assure you! Doesn't feel a bit like him! Trust me – Carrot is on his way! He ought to be here any time!"

 

"Very well." Dorking leaned back and pondered the future.

 

The arrangement with Mary the Calf had possibilities. Once Vetinari was out of office, someone would have to take over as Patrician. Dorking thought of himself as the ideal candidate, of course, but that might not be possible. However, he might be able to influence who did get chosen. Someone who was pliable; that would be good. Then Mary the Calf could have a talk with them. About something in her eye.

 

Intimate chuckle.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Dorking had set things up quite well. Once Vetinari and Fraser had been shown into the playing field, Cuttlefish had locked the door after them and was now standing guard outside. The entrances to the spectators' galleries were locked and barred from the outside now as well. That would keep someone from meddling – especially that fool Vimes, who was in the gallery opposite with Lady Vimes.

 

There were a few gaps in Dorking's planning, however. He had not informed Melquist, the guard at the front gate, to expect a visitor from the Watch.

 

It made no difference, however. Melquist challenged the Watchman that showed up, but found himself tossed into the bushes at one side like a rag doll.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Fraser had been fascinated by the chess arena when he'd first seen it. It had been built to house large events.

 

He turned around and looked down again at the chess board in the center of the field. It was set flush into the ground and measured approximately one foot by one foot.

 

"Is there something wrong, Constable Fraser?"

 

Fraser looked up at the Patrician and replied, "Oh, a couple of things, really. For one thing –” He indicated the chess board. “– Shouldn't this be, well, bigger?"

 

Vetinari laughed; it was one of his rare laughs that didn't have a double meaning. "Constable, do you know anything about B.S. Johnson?"

 

"No, I hadn't had a chance to read up on him."

 

"Well, his given name was Bergholt Stuttley Johnson, but he's better known as ‘Bloody Stupid Johnson’. He was a remarkably enthusiastic designer, but his approach had one flaw – he paid no attention to the difference between feet and inches. If he was ever aware of the difference. It affected much of his work. He designed several monuments – triumphal arches, statues and the like. I keep several in a drawer at my desk. He did much work on the Palace grounds, you know."

 

"Ah. Could this be why I've yet to find the hedge maze? I've been interested in seeing that."

 

"Well, the maze is out of commission right now. I'm afraid I stepped on it."

 

"Really."

 

"Oh, yes. He also designed more portable things – or at least things that are supposed to be portable. There was a salt and pepper set – I believe that four families live in the salt shaker. And he did design a portable chess set. It still exists."

 

"Ah. I can guess how large it is."

 

"Quite. I don't think the owners can get it indoors."

 

"Ah." Fraser frowned. "I don't understand. If his work is as incompetent as you say, why is it so popular?"

 

Lord Vetinari shrugged. "All I can say is – human nature. Bloody Stupid Johnson is fashionable among the rich nowadays, and is considered quite amusing. I don't know why people go for fashionable and amusing instead of common sense. I wish I did."

 

"Understood. That leaves another question, though. Why are we the only ones on the field?"

 

Vetinari looked around and frowned. "You know, I wondered that myself – ah, here comes someone now!" The entry door at one end of the field had opened and someone had stepped through.

 

When Fraser saw who it was, he said, "Oh, dear."

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Coomander Vimes sat bolt upright when he saw who had just entered the playing field. His wife, Lady Sybil, said, "Samuel, dear, isn't that Captain Carrot?"

 

"Yes, it is!" Vimes jumped up and headed for the exit.

 

"But, wasn't he indisposed or something?" The spectators around them were starting to react.

 

"Yes, dear, he was. From the looks of him, he still is!" The door wouldn't open. Vimes rattled the knob for the usual amount of time, then slammed his shoulder against the door panel. Then he kicked, and kicked harder. It didn't help. "Damn!"

 

Other people were standing up now. Some were demanding to know what was going on, but most were looking out onto the field. They probably thought it was part of the show.

 

Vimes came forward and kicked at the screen; that didn't budge either. All he could do was watch like everyone else.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Melquist managed to extricate himself from the bushes and resume his post in front of the gate, when two more members of the Watch showed up. They weren't as large as the first one, so he figured he could handle them.

 

One of them said, "All right, buddy, we need to get in there and we need to get in there now! I presume everybody's at the outdoor chess thing – am I right? Could you give us directions?"

 

Melquist replied, as frostily as he could with a minimum of practice, "I'm sorry, but no one is allowed in without an invitation. Those are my orders!"

 

The other one came forward and asked, "Did a large Watchman come through here not long ago?" Melquist looked at her and went pale.

 

Angua had been in a hurry after she'd arrived. She'd started dressing before she'd fully changed back to a human form. The change still wasn't complete. Angua was respectably hirsute, but the hair was rapidly disappearing; somehow that made it worse.

 

Melquist stepped out of the way and opened the gate. "You turn to the right and go around the side of the house. The chess arena is right in back. And, yes, another Watchman came through here."

 

Ray said, "Thank you", and they hurried through.

 

Melquist closed the gate and resumed his post. Maybe if he pretended that nothing happened…

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

"All right, Ray, that's the entrance to the arena ahead – the stairs must lead up to the galleries! I'm going to try and get in the arena; Carrot might be there. You go up to the galleries and see what you can find!" Ray bounded up the nearest staircase while Angua and Diefenbaker ran for the entrance.

 

Cuttlefish was standing in front of the entrance to the arena. He was dressed in full House Dorking livery armor and held a lance.

 

Angua said, "Get out of my way, I need to get in there."

 

Cuttlefish replied, "I'm sorry, madame, but I can't let you in the arena. Lord Dorking gave me orders." His tone was cool, with just a hint of arrogance.

 

Angua said, very softly, "You will let me pass or I will have to move you."

 

Cuttlefish audibly sneered. "You're welcome to try. Madame."

 

So Angua reached forward, grabbed Cuttlefish's armor, and she tried.

 

It was a long way across the lawn to any wall of substance. So Cuttlefish had plenty of time to think while he sailed through the air. He'd gotten as far as deciding that he wasn't being paid enough to put up with things like this when he hit a brick wall and slumped down in a well-armored heap.

 

Angua started working on the lock.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Fraser stepped between Captain Carrot and Lord Vetinari.

 

Carrot stopped and stared at nothing; Fraser just happened to be in his line of vision. "Please. Move. I. Must… I… Must…"

 

In the gallery, Dorking whispered to Mary the Calf, "I think the Captain needs some encouragement."

 

Mary leaned forward and her eyes widened and began to dilate.

 

"I. Must… I. Must. Kill. The. Patrician."

 

Fraser replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't let you do that."

 

Carrot slammed his arm into the side of Fraser's head and knocked him down.

 

But Fraser got up again. He stepped between Vetinari and Carrot again.

 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but I have to do this." Fraser slammed his fist into Carrot's jaw. Carrot went down.

 

But Carrot got up again.

 

Fraser and Carrot began to seriously tussle.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

It was easy to unlock and unbar the door to the spectator's gallery from the outside. Soon Ray was inside and running down the aisle to the front.

 

He pushed and pulled at the screen at the front of the gallery, but he couldn't budge it. All he could do was look down in the arena.

 

Fraser and Carrot were very closely matched, and it didn't look like one could prevail against the other. They'd push each other around and get in the occasional punch or two, but nobody was making any headway.

 

"Constable Vecchio!"

 

Someone was shouting at Ray from the opposite gallery. It was Commander Vimes.

 

"Sir!"

 

"Constable, do something!"

 

"Yes sir!" But what could Ray do? He had his single-hand crossbow. He had plenty of range. Maybe he could –

 

No. He didn't want to shoot Captain Carrot. This wasn't his fault. Besides, Ray liked the man too much.

 

But there was Dorking. Was he around – ah. He was right here, in this very gallery. Sitting front and center and watching the show intensely. Ray could always lean on him –

 

On what grounds?

 

Damn. Ray had no evidence linking Dorking to the attacks or to what had happened to Carrot. It was entirely possible, and it irked Ray to consider this, that he was wrong. And if he was wrong, and a Watchman was seen to harass an innocent man – an innocent man with a lot of clout… Like Vimes had said, it might mean the end for the Watch.

 

But Dorking had to be behind all this!

 

Maybe.

 

Damn.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Vetinari stayed back while the two Watchmen fought. If it weren't for the fact that Carrot wasn't wearing his helmet, it would have been impossible to tell them apart.

 

Fraser was at a distinct disadvantage. It was obvious that he had no wish to seriously hurt Carrot, and he certainly didn't want to kill him. But Carrot – whatever type of spell he was under – had no such compunctions. He pushed and hit harder, and it was only because of Fraser's stamina that he hadn't gone down already.

 

Now Carrot had gotten his hands around Fraser's throat and was squeezing. Fraser wasn't going to last much longer.

 

Vetinari could protect himself. He had learned much while attending the Assassins' Guild as a young man. If – when – Carrot attacked, Vetinari could fight back.

 

He wouldn't have any other choice.

 

He had to ignore the small voice, deep in his soul, that kept saying, "But I like Carrot!" That would not be easy.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

When two wizards and some man in a strange orange suit came up, Melquist decided that he'd had enough. When one of them said, "Oook!", he replied, "Around in back. Go through the gate and turn to the right. You can't miss it."

 

After they had gone in, Melquist started walking away, divesting himself of House Dorking livery at each step. If any business on the Turnwise side of Ankh-Morpork subsequently hired a man dressed only in his underwear, it never became common knowledge.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Up in the gallery, Mary the Calf poured on the power. Her eyes didn't roll around in her head, but it was like they were being kept on a short leash. And by now they were dilated enough to set a record.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Ray watched as Carrot started to throttle Fraser, and he almost shot off his crossbow then and there. Yeah, the guy with the big sickle had said they couldn't die, but Fraser would certainly suffer a lot of damage. What if his windpipe was crushed?

 

Ray looked over at Dorking again; he was about ready to go over and whale on the bastard.

 

He noticed the old lady sitting next to Dorking for the first time. She was obviously with him; maybe she was his Mother.

 

One thing was for sure, she was certainly staring at the fight in the arena.

 

She was really staring!

 

What was going on with her eyes? They looked like they were about to pop out! They looked downright –

 

…evil.

 

Evil eye. Like what Fraser had said. She had to be the one giving Carrot the Evil Eye.

 

That did it. Ray didn't care what kind of trouble he'd cause; he had to find a way to stop that old woman.

 

Threaten her? Hit her over the head with something? It still wouldn't look good. But Ray had to do something.

 

He looked around the gallery for something to bean her with. Some guy dressed in black had a large wooden box beside him. That ought to do.

 

The box looked familiar to Ray. He looked at the man more closely.

 

The man was almost completely swathed in black, including a large, floppy hat pulled down over his head and hiding his face. The only things that weren't black were his white gloves. Ray could only see a very small amount of skin; it looked pale gray and glistened with some sort of oily substance. Sunscreen? This guy was really concerned with keeping the sun off.

 

Suddenly Ray figured out who the man in black was. And what the box was.

 

And Ray knew what he could do.

 

He rushed over and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey, Otto!"

 

The vampire looked up; he was wearing dark glasses. "Ach, Conztable Vecchio! Goot to see you here! I am here myzelf in my capazity as un iconographer for the newspaper!" He shrugged. "Alas, I am der fool! I vorgot to brink der paints vor my brownie – I can take no pictures!"

 

"Otto, I need your help! I want to borrow your, uh, iconograph!"

 

"Vhat? Ray, I chust tolt you – there iss no paints! Der iconograph iss no good vor takink pictures!"

 

"Never mind about all that! Does the flash attachment work on its own?"

 

Otto blinked. "Vhat, der zalamander? Er – ja, it vill vork chust fine! You press der lever here! But vhy –”

 

"Thanks, I promise not to break it!" Ray snatched up the box and headed for the front of the gallery.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Who watches the Watchmen? In this case, it was Lord Dorking, among others.

 

Dorking was fascinated by the fight. Though the one Constable seemed to be losing, he still wasn't certain of the outcome. One or the other of them was going to die, that was for sure. And Lord Vetinari may or may not be next.

 

It didn't matter. Whatever the outcome, it would reflect badly on Vimes' blasted Watch, and therefore on Lord Vetinari. They might suspect that he had something to do with it, but they could never prove it. And there was nothing they could do.

 

Then a Watchman appeared out of nowhere and knelt in front of them – with an iconograph?!

 

Ray said, "Smile for the camera!" and pressed the lever.

 

A little hammer hit the salamander on the head. He had a lot of energy stored up, and he released it all at once, in a particularly bright flash.

 

Just inches in front of Mary the Calf's severely dilated eyes.

 

Her jaw dropped open, and her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Then they dilated again. And shrank again. They began to do this more rapidly. Somewhere along the line they got went of synch.

 

Mary the Calf jammed her fists into her eyes and began to wail. It was the closest thing to an emergency vehicle siren that Ray had heard since arriving on this world.

 

Lord Dorking became flustered and tried to pull Mary's fists away from her eyes, but she wouldn't budge. She was bent over, and she began to rock back and forth. Dorking looked up at Ray and scowled.

 

Ray stepped back and watched. Someone dressed in black came up beside him. Ray handed the iconograph over and said, "Thanks loads, Otto. I owe you one."

 

"Zat's qvite all right, Ray. I don't zink I would haff missed zis vor all der Vorld. I take it zat zis is somezink goot?"

 

"Oh, ja. The goot guys just won."

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

The grip around Fraser's neck loosened. Carrot blinked and said, "Constable Fraser?"

 

Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah. Good to have you back, sir."

 

"It's good to be back, Constable. Uh – what's been happening?"

 

The Patrician spoke up. "Quite a bit, Captain. Much of it unpleasant and all of it complicated. The constable is right – it is good to have you back."

 

Someone up in the spectators' gallery interrupted. Loudly.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Lord Dorking clutched at the screen and began shouting at Lord Vetinari. If the Watch wanted evidence that linked Dorking to the attempted assassination, he supplied it.

 

"This is all your fault, Vetinari! You dared to let foreigners move into our city! Dwarfs, trolls – they were bad enough! Coming here and taking jobs from decent folk! Letting them mingle with their betters! But, no, you let the devil Klatchians in! With their ugly women and their vile food and their heathen Gods! Ankh-Morpork used to be a great city, where the inferior folk knew their place and the proper folk ruled! But now it's polluted with foreign slime – and it's all because of you!"

 

(While Lord Dorking was ranting on, nobody noticed three more people enter the gallery. Though some might question the "people" status of one of them, and he would feel slightly insulted himself.)

 

"I wanted to do this city a favor by getting rid of you, but your blasted pet dogs on the Night Watch had to interfere! Well I guess if I want the job done right –” Lord Dorking reached into his jacket “– I'll have to do it myself!" He brought out a hand-held crossbow and began to take aim through the screen.

 

"Oh, dear." Carrot and Fraser moved to get in front of the Patrician. Angua finally managed to open the door to the arena and came through with Diefenbaker. She rushed forward to join Carrot and Fraser.

 

To Dorking's left something went click.

 

It was too loud to simply be the cocking of a small crossbow. It sounded more like a handgun from Earth, specifically one that was issued to a Chicago policeman. But it was a crossbow.

 

Ray Vecchio stood with his legs apart, his arms out straight to steady his own crossbow, which pointed right at Dorking. He could just as well have been on the job back on Earth, and it could just as well have been his gun. But now, he wasn't a member of the Ankh-Morpork Night Watch, nor was he a detective in the Chicago Police Department. He was beyond that. Now he was an archetype that transcended Universes. He wasn't just a policeman. He was the Policeman.

 

Ray said, "Fabricati diem…" His face didn't change expression, but somewhere beneath the surface was a nasty smile. "…pvnc."

 

Lord Dorking stared at Ray, and it was obvious that he and sanity weren't speaking to each other at the moment. He began to swing his crossbow to point it at Ray. Ray's finger began to tighten on the trigger.

 

Somewhere nearby somebody said, "Give me the bottle! Now!"

 

A small glass bottle sailed through the air and shattered on the floor between Dorking and Ray. A yellow gas billowed forth. The wizard Alva said three words that send chills up the spine of anybody that has worked with hazardous chemicals: "Not that one!"

 

Before anyone could even so much as blink, Ray had been replaced by a sea troll. And Lord Dorking had been replaced by someone dressed in the baggy garb and the turban of a Klatchian. In fact, this person looked very much Klatchian.

 

But he also looked a lot like Lord Dorking.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Ray suddenly appeared on the slope of a hill. Or rather, a few inches above the slope of a hill. He landed and began to roll down the slope.

 

It's disorienting to be instantaneously transported to some unknown location without warning. So if you start rolling down a hill, it will take a few seconds for you to gather your wits so that you can stop yourself. A lot can happen in a few seconds.

 

By the time Ray had figured out what was going on and that he had better do something about it, he was stopped by some sort of barrier.

 

It was a fence. Actually it was a net, like the type fishermen use, that was strung between a series of poles set in the ground. He was glad to stop and when he had caught his breath, he looked around. Immediately he saw why the fence was there – if it hadn't been, he would have rolled off the edge of a cliff.

 

This made Ray even more thankful, and he wished that more people would be as thoughtful and put up fences along other cliffs. He could think of a few good places back home.

 

Ray wondered where he was. Obviously out in the country somewhere; if Ankh-Morpork had any mountains, he didn't know where they were kept. It had to be near the sea; the air was humid and misty and had a briny smell to it.

 

It was still dark here. Ray could look up and see the stars. He looked beyond the cliff and could just see more stars ahead through the mist –

 

Wait a minute. There were stars ahead?

 

Ray looked down to see what was at the bottom of the cliff – but the bottom wasn't there. What he saw instead were more stars.

 

And directly below was a funny-shaped asteroid. It was pocked with craters and frosted with rime and generally sandblasted with micrometeorites. The far end was slightly pointed. The shape looked familiar…

 

A turtle's head. It looked like a turtle's head. And those dark spots were like eyes.

 

It was a turtle's head!

 

Ray sat back and said out loud, to no one in particular and everyone in general, "All right, now I'm convinced!"

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Rincewind said, "All right, now what do we do?"

 

Alva answered, somewhat sharply, "We aren't going to do anything! I am going to get out the proper container while you keep your hands to yourself and don't touch anything else! Is that clear?"

 

"Perfectly." The only problem Rincewind had with this was that he would have preferred it if someone had said this earlier. Like one or two days ago. "What was that stuff?"

 

"Oh, something I'd come up with some time back. It's an approximate analogue to Green Gas – a pale imitation, really. It's unstable as well."

 

"How unstable?"

 

"Well, the effects won't last. Soon things will change back. The constable and the other man will be back and those two will leave."

 

The sea troll was not very trollish, really. He looked just like a squat, middle-aged man. It was just that he was made almost entirely of water. He looked quite surprised to be in this strange place. The fish swimming around inside him looked surprised, too, but fish always look that way.

 

The yellow gas had done a simple switch with Ray and the sea troll, but it had done more to Lord Dorking. It had changed him into a Klatchian. What's more, it had changed him so that he'd always been a Klatchian, with a Klatchian's memories. But he also had Lord Dorking's memories.

 

As Lord Dorking, he believed that all Klatchians were shifty and not to be trusted. As a Klatchian he had been a dealer in spices, well-known and respected in the community as an honest merchant.

 

As Lord Dorking, he despised the Klatchian's dark, ugly women. As a Klatchian, he was happily married to one of the most beautiful women in his community, with lovely, smooth skin and long, dark hair.

 

As Lord Dorking, he looked upon Klatchian children as small, snotty-nosed thieves. As a Klatchian, he had been bouncing his youngest child on his knee just that morning, a proud and loving father.

 

As Lord Dorking, he despised spicy Klatchian food. As a Klatchian, he had tasted food indigenous to Ankh-Morpork and had found it bland to the point of tastelessness; he looked forward to the tasty meals his lovely wife prepared every night.

 

As Lord Dorking, he thought all Klatchians stank. As a Klatchian, he was fastidious about hygiene and bathed more often than he did when he was Lord Dorking.

 

This kind of bilateral thinking couldn't go on forever. Something had to give.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Ray sat next to the fence and looked down again. He didn't feel any panic. His view of the world had just gone through a major paradigm shift, but you don't panic over paradigm shifts, even major ones. Falling off the edge of the world is something to panic about, and with a good, strong fence, what were the chances of that happening?

 

From what he remembered, this had to be Krull, right at the edge of the Disc. Some people lived here, if he recalled correctly, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. Ray was alone.

 

By some coincidence, Ray had landed here at precisely that time of year when Krull was over the Great A'Tuin's head. On the leading edge of the Disc, as it were.

 

Ray thought about that for a moment.

 

He looked behind him. All his eyes could see was the slope of the mountain, but what he was seeing was the rest of the Disc. All of the Disc was behind him. Everyone was behind him.

 

He looked forward again. There was nobody in front of him.

 

Ray Vecchio was at the very front of the Disc, like he was standing at the very bow of a ship sailing through the night.

 

And that reminded him of the Movie.

 

He'd heard that it was a "chick" movie, so he'd ended up seeing it several times, always with a date. He'd thought it was so-so. They'd done a real good job recreating the ship and a fairly good job on the sinking. The love triangle was a joke, but he never said that to any of his dates. But now, sitting there, he could understand the power of that scene with the two people at the bow of the cruise ship.

 

That's when Ray got what is known as a "wild hair".

 

He stood up and placed himself right at the edge, with the fence only an inch away. Then he raised his arms above his head and let himself fall forward.

 

Ray was counting on the fence to catch him and hold. It did, of course. People who live on the edge of the World make very strong fences.

 

Now Ray was hanging over the edge of the Disk, looking down on The Great A'Tuin's head.

 

Ray lifted his head up and shouted to the Universe, "I'M KING OF THE –”

 

And the net vanished.

 

…and Ray landed on his hands and knees on the floor of the spectators' gallery. He looked up at the people standing around and said, "…world."

 

Lord Dorking was back to normal. But he still had the memories of the Klatchian.

 

A general once said, "Know your enemy", and it is good advice for a soldier. It also explains why bigots make very poor soldiers. Because bigotry's very existence depends on not knowing your enemy.

 

Bigotry thinks of the others as "others"; it cannot and will not make the effort to think of them as beings just like you, me or it. For bigotry to realize that "they" are "just like us" will kill bigotry, or at least short-circuit its thinking.

 

Lord Dorking had just walked in the enemy's shoes. He had seen that his enemies were just like us, and now his innate bigotry had to come to terms with that. His mind took the easy way out.

 

Lord Dorking's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

 

Ray stood up just as the crowd parted to let the Patrician and three officers of the Watch through. Fraser came up and said, "Are you all right, Ray?"

 

"Yeah, I'm fine, Benny. Just had an interesting trip, though." He smiled at Fraser. "I think we won, partner."

 

Fraser smiled back. "Yes, we did, Ray." Diefenbaker came up and sat at their feet.

 

"Oook!" The Librarian was persuading people to stand back.

 

A wizard came up to Ray and Fraser and said, "Excuse me, but could one of you hold this for me?"

 

Ray replied, "Sure," and took a small glass container from him.

 

"Very good!" The wizard pulled the stopper out of the bottle and stepped back very quickly.

 

Ray looked down at the bottle and groaned. "Oh, no, more gas! And just what's supposed to happen to us with purple –”

 

Ray opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling of the warehouse. He could feel the concrete floor under his back. "…gas?"

 

Detective Jack Huey was bending over him. He said anxiously, "Are you all right, Ray?"

 

Ray blinked and said, "Yeah. A little woozy, maybe." He looked over and saw Fraser – dressed in his red serge uniform – sit up. "How about you, Benny?"

 

Fraser replied slowly, "Yes. I'm fine, Ray."

 

"Hey, Benny – we're back."

 

"Yes, we are, Ray."

 

"And it's good to see you two back!" Lieutenant Welsh came striding up. "We've been busy while you were out. The perps gave up after they tossed the gas grenade. That was apparently their last piece of ammo – can you believe it?" The Lieutenant's voice softened. "We were worrying about you. You've both been out for ten minutes."

 

"Ten minutes…" Ray looked over at Fraser, who just shrugged. This wasn't the time or place to discuss it.

 

Welsh continued. "Now then, you two are going to the doctor and getting thorough checkups. Then you're going off duty for a couple of days. That's an order for you, Vecchio, and a very strong suggestion for you, Constable. Do I make myself clear?"

 

"Yessir. And that sounds like a very good idea, sir." Ray and Fraser stood up.

 

"Aw, no…"

 

"What's wrong, detective Huey?"

 

Huey was bending over Diefenbaker, who lay sprawled on the concrete. "Your wolf isn't moving, Fraser. The Gas –”

 

Ray sighed and walked over. "Don't worry about it, Huey. He's playing possum." He shouted at Diefenbaker, "Come on and get up! You're not fooling anybody!"

 

Diefenbaker opened one eye and stared at the human balefully.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

It felt strange to be driving the Riviera again. Ray kept catching himself driving under the speed limit and stopping for yellow lights.

 

The Stetson was on the dashboard, in the usual location. Fraser was gazing out the window at what passed for scenery in Chicago.

 

Ray wasn't sure what to say. "Was it all real?" seemed awfully complicated, not to mention clichéd. Finally he came close to it by saying, "Mass hallucination?"

 

Fraser replied, "perhaps." That didn't leave any room for discussion, which was just as well.

 

Ray had to think about the route to the Consulate. If he wasn't careful, place names like Pseudopolis Yard and Sator Square might pop into his head and confuse him.

 

Again Ray spoke. He tried to be as casual as he could. "So – you got any plans?"

 

Fraser replied, "I've been thinking about that, Ray." He turned away from the window. "I think I ought to take a vacation. Go back home for a while. I want to get the city out of my system."

 

Ray nodded. "That's a good idea, Benny." He didn't ask which city Fraser wanted to get out of his system. Maybe both.

 

"What plans have you made, Ray?"

 

Ray inhaled. He'd gotten used to the organic smell of Ankh-Morpork, and now he was back in the burning hydrocarbon smell of Chicago; he wasn't sure which was more distinctive. "I dunno, Benny. Nothing big, I know. Just go back to work, be a Chicago cop again. That'll be a big help. I know one thing I wanna do, though!"

 

"What's that, Ray?"

 

"Find a good shoemaker! I have got to get a decent pair of boots!"

 

It was rare for Ray to hear Fraser laugh like that.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

This is an epilogue. There are always epilogues.

 

Lord Dorking never came out of his catatonic state. One could only hope that he was satisfied with whatever world he was inhabiting in his head. Derwin took control of the family estate, and the rest of Ankh-Morpork aristocracy formed a betting pool on how long it would be before the estate was sold to cover gambling debts. The winner chose seven months.

 

As Captain Carrot had said, pictures of all the Watch officers were posted on the Watch House wall. A special area is set aside to honor those officers that had fallen in the line of duty. Because their fate was unknown, it was decided that Ray's and Fraser's iconograph would be moved to this section, and they were labeled "missing in action". Everyone fervently wished that they had made it home.

 

One person wasn't satisfied with just wishing, however. He wanted to find out, and he had the means to do it.

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

One morning, the staff of the Chicago Public Library came in to work and discovered an envelope on one of the tables. There was an investigation, but they could never determine how it got there.

 

There were no stamps on the envelope, and no return address. It was simply labeled "To Constable Benton Fraser, c/o the Canadian Consulate." What with his vacation and a case involving an arsonist, it was several weeks before it got to Fraser.

 

He opened up and found an elegantly hand-written note inside. It read, "Meet me in the Public Library, Applied Anthropology section, one hour after lunch, two days from now."

 

No matter how many weeks the note would have taken to get to Fraser, it would have said "meet me two days from now", and it still would have been valid. L-Space makes a good time machine, if you're careful.

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

The man at the table in Applied Anthropology was odd-looking. He wore sunglasses, a floppy hat and a very strange furry orange jumpsuit. The staff paid no attention; the Public Library had gotten far stranger visitors in the past. At least this one was quiet and knew how to treat books properly.

 

Constable Fraser put his Stetson on the table and sat down across from the Librarian.

 

"Oook?"

 

"Yes, we made it back just fine. No problems."

 

"Ook?"

 

"Oh, yes, he's fine. I think. I haven't seen him since after we got back."

 

"Ooook!"

 

"Well, it's kind of complicated. Ray had to go off on an undercover assignment. Very deep undercover. They assigned someone else to impersonate him while he's gone.  So Ray Vecchio is still my partner; it's just not the same Ray Vecchio."

 

"Oook?"

 

"Ah… No, he doesn't look like him at all."

 

The Librarian shook his head. "Oook…"

 

"Really. What's strange is that so far it's worked. Everyone seems to think that he's the same man."

 

"Oook."

 

Fraser nodded. "And I appreciate you seeing me like this. It proves that we didn't hallucinate."

 

The Librarian stood up and stretched out his hand. "Oook."

 

Fraser shook the Librarian's hand and said, "Yes, it's good to see you, too. I hope to see you again someday."

 

"Oook!" From somewhere, the Librarian produced two small copper shields. Fraser recognised the design – the Tower of Art on the lower half and the Ankh and Morpork on the upper half. The badge numbers were 935 and 139.

 

Fraser picked the badges up and looked at them closely. Finally he said, "I will make sure that Ray gets his. It may take a long time – even years. But he will get this.

 

"Thank you kindly."

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

One final scene.

 

Somewhere out on the Sto Plains, just outside of Ankh-Morpork, two men appear in a puff of greenish smoke. Both wear the latest style of clothing on Earth, back when Elizabeth I was in power – tight breeches, ruffled collar, the whole works.

 

One, with a goatee and mustache, turns to the other and said, with much condescension, "Well, Baldric, now what have you got us into?"

 

The other, a shorter man with a fuller beard and a general air of scruffiness, replied, "I'm not sure, m'Lord. I was just trying to catch something for dinner –”

 

"You were after the rats again, weren't you, Baldric?"

 

"Lots of good meat on rats, m'Lord! Almost as much meat as on a turnip, m'Lord! Anyway, I bought some of this green gas off of a bloke I met in an alley –”

 

"Hold on, hold on! You were going to gas the rats and then feed them to me?"

 

"Well, yes, m'Lord. Bashin' 'em on the head would damage the meat!"

 

The other man sighed. "Right. Well, anyway, what happened?"

 

"Wull, you came up behind me and knocked me on the head, as you usually do, and I dropped the container, and all the green gas came out – and here we are!"

 

"Ah." He looked around. "Well, we at least have landed near a city. I don't recognise it, but it's obviously civilization. We'll go there and find out where we are, shall we?"

 

"Very well, Lord Blackadder."

 

And Edmund Blackadder and his manservant Baldric walked into the city of Ankh-Morpork and had adventures that made Ray's and Fraser's look positively boring by comparison.

 

But that's another story.

 

THE END

 

DISCLAIMER

 

This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by Alliance Communications Corp., CBS and CTV or any other copyright holders of "due South", nor is it intended to infringe on copyrights held by Terry and Lyn Pratchett of "Discworld".